I, Pendragon
by KnightGuardian
Summary: Camelot is suffering through a drought while its prince is feeling the pangs of unrequited love - but evil waits for no man, not even a prince.
1. Chapter 1

"_I, Arthur Pendragon am in love with Merlin. You can see the problem here, can you not? No of course not, you don't know the whole sordid story. Simply put, I could not tell him even where the castle under siege by dragons. Not because he's my manservant, or a commoner, or even a clueless idiot on the best of days - if only that where it this would be significantly easier. No, I cannot speak a word of this because two weeks ago to today he was raped. And it was my fault." _

* * *

Arthur paced the confines of his chamber back and forth and back again until Merlin would swear he's worn a dent in the flagstones, all this for the better part of an hour. His father, knowing Arthur's propensity to do incredibly stupid things such as practice with his sword in the court yard during a heat wave that would give even a hellhound pause, had ordered him away from his duties leaving Merlin with a bored and sweaty Prince Arthur, oh joy.

One more useless request - _just one _- and he was liable to do something drastic.

And it wouldn't be his fault, but he doubts the king would see it that way if he turned his son into something more agreeable. Like a dog perhaps, no definitely not, a dog with teeth all the better to bite with, a cat perhaps, or the traditional toad. _Sorcerers where supposed to turn everybody into toads, weren't they? _

Merlin would like to think he was the patient sort, but even that went only so far when faced with Arthur in a mood.

Hauling buckets of water, polishing boots that already shone brighter than they had any right to, and sweeping floors that hadn't a spec of dust - well maybe a spec, a small spec - did not, a happy servant make which is how Merlin found himself fighting the temptation to mutter a cooling spell, maybe then he could find a respite from Arthur's nagging.

Not that the prince was nagging like a normal person, no, he was stalking back an forth like a caged lion, sweat beading on his brow and sticking his tunic to his chest.

His blond fringe matted to his forehead and he was silent, just sort of glaring at the room at large as though it had offended him in some horrible way.

Whenever Arthur got like this the servants bowed deeper and fled, Merlin had no such escape. Even with Arthur in a mood, and he was, what was worse was the look in his eye clearly demanding _'Merlin, I'm bored, entertain me!' _that worried Merlin.

A bored Arthur was a dangerous Arthur.

The last instance he had that look came to mind, it had involved unaltered wine a table top and a fuzzy memory of singing, loud and off key, Arthur happily informed him the next morning when he came stumbling in with breakfast and a head that throbbed as though someone had danced a jig on it.

Since then he had always been careful to not be in the area when Arthur got it in his head that Merlin was his own personal entertainment, because clearly that never ended well.

For the mean time Merlin would just be glad Arthur had given up throwing his dinner knife at random servants, because really, did he need to provoke the people that where handling his food?

"Do a magic trick Merlin!" Arthur commanded, looking smug and proud as though this was the most brilliant idea ever and in no way likely to end with Merlin a foot shorter from the neck.

That was the problem with Arthur.

He thought every idea that popped into his brain was outstanding and deserving of applause. Admittedly they usually where, when he wasn't demanding magic-tricks in a castle whose king cut off magic users heads every other Tuesday. Thus he can be excused for going a little wide-eyed and choking on a few garbled sounds that where supposed to be words before he calmed himself and stopped gibbering like an idiot and settled for a wordless glare.

He still had not adjusted to Arthur _knowing_, let along demanding petty parlor tricks to pass the time. He wasn't complaining, exactly, this was preferable to Arthur storming about angry and silent for weeks on end and not talking to him, or his favorite handing him over to the king in chains.

Uther would no doubt be very proud of him should he do so, and Merlin knows that above all else Arthur craves the approval of his father. But Arthur hasn't done any of this, and Merlin is beginning to trust that he wont.

"Say that a little louder" he grumbles, "I don't think the King heard you!"

Arthur laughs, a low bellied chuckle, causing butterflies to dance about merrily in his stomach. Now, apart from the magic thing there is now _this_ - and he can make neither heads nor tails of it.

Arthur will smile suddenly when they're standing quietly at the turrets overlooking the city, usually sobering up before a council meeting, and he feels tent feet tall. Its fantastic really that feeling, but then Arthur frowns and something twists viciously in his insides.

And then of course there's all the _looks_, and their not bad looks but Merlin isn't entirely sure their good ones either, they do strange things to him and are usually followed by dirtied bed sheets and images that he most definitely should not have about the royal person.

"These are my private chambers Merlin, you're perfectly safe" Arthur promises his voice gone quiet and serious.

Merlin takes him at his word, what can he say to that?

"Céle" he whispered, extremely aware of Arthur staring at his eyes as they change to gold before fading back to blue.

"You've become almost useful Merlin" Arthur says, his tone light and indulgent, Merlin has no doubt that he'd be ruffling his hair to if he where a few inches shorter.

"Explain this though," Arthur drawls, "why did you not do that in the first place, must I instruct you even in this?"

Merlin folds his arms, "I'm still not used to it" he says with a shrug, "I mean to you knowing, sire."

Arthur frowns for a moment before his face clears to a somewhat forced smile clapping him on the shoulder hard enough to fling Merlin forward two steps.

_When will Arthur get it through his head that he's not one of his knights? _

"No time like the present then, eh?"

"Well go on then, my shoes wont polish themselves" Arthur said with a strange hand motion that Merlin takes to mean he can continue free of nagging princes wanting to be entertained.

"No you idiot, not like that" Arthur chides, "do it how you would if I where not here."

_Oh, he means that. _Merlin slants Arthur a speculative glance and a half hearted argument, "Yes, but you are," and as far as arguments go it isn't much, but then he's not really arguing.

"So I am" Arthur snorts, "its only my bloody room after all," and gracefully flops - until Arthur he hadn't known one could flop gracefully - down onto his feathered pillows and wool blankets and watches him as though he finds the view particularly entertaining.

As for Merlin, he rebelliously sat himself on Arthur's abandoned chair and set the broom to sweeping, the linens to dusting, and the clothes to folding. All with a flash of gold and a muttered incantation.

Next the princes shoes went about polishing themselves, and if Arthur found that the least amount amusing he was careful not to let it show. There was no need to encourage Merlin's impertinent streak.

Merlin picked up Arthur's discarded armor by hand and set to undoing the dents and nicks with something as close to reverence as he ever came.

His magic busy whirling about the chambers like a controlled hurricane he still felt Arthur's steady gaze as he polished and scrubbed until the metal pieces shone radiantly, something soft about his eyes and something else that was neigh indiscernible; if Merlin had to guess as to its origins he'd say it was startled surprise.

Things went along as they always did, Merlin cleaned, Arthur practically at his shoulder half the time slightly mystified by the various animated objects dancing about him like puppets on a well played marionette string.

Things where good really, just about until twenty minutes ago when Arthur had had enough of being cooped up like a detainee on house arrest.

Thus, when the sun as at its highest peak Merlin finds himself before the king, a step back and to the right of Arthur as he petitions the merits of a bit of hunting. Never mind that barely a week had passed since the last assassination attempt, and the assassin was still at large.

Father and son argued for a short while, Uther saying everything but _'I'd rather you didn't kill yourself over a bit of boredom' _he was far to stately for that but Merlin thinks Arthur heard it anyways, not that it changes his mind in the least.

A few minutes more and in a mix of frustration and understanding Uther relents, as he's known to do every now and then when Arthur poses his request just so.

"Very well Arthur, I know idleness has never sat well with you" Uther said the barest hint of a smile quirking his mouth upwards, "believe it or not I do recall what it felt to be young and restless, just be careful not to be reckless as well."

"Of course, thank you father" Arthur said respectfully bowing his head. "Yes well I'm sure where another assassin to find the pair of you your manservant will throw himself in front of this ones blade too" Uther said wryly, no doubt his subtle way of chastising Arthur before dismissing him.

Arthur froze for a moment before nodding sharply and exiting the court, Merlin on his heels, only for him to halt abruptly outside the halls; away from prying eyes. "That will not happen again, Merlin" he said his voice low and gravely, "you are never to throw your life away like that."

"You know its not like I wanted a knife through my shoulder, I didn't wake up that morning and think 'hey, that sounds fun!' because I didn't" Merlin said his hands waving about to emphasize his words, "besides, isn't that what us servants are here for, sire?"

"No Merlin they're not, _your_ not" he said his voice soft and harsh. "Servants are for cooking, cleaning, mending, and mucking out my stables not for fighting griffons, sorcerers and all other manner of magical creatures" he bit out each word louder than the last until he was almost shouting his grip on Merlin's shoulder becoming more noticeable as his hand tightened, "and they are most definitely not to die for me!"

"Sire, let go" Merlin said pulling back, not at all cowed by the sheer intensity radiating from Arthur, but that grip of his was getting to be a bit much.

Arthur released him instantly as though his skin burned to the touch, it didn't of course, at least, he's fairly certain.

"Don't be such a girl, I barely laid a hand on you" he muttered brushing past Merlin as though their conversation had never happened. "Why is it I'm going, when you know I lack any sort of coordination, and can read your hand signals about as well as a Gael can read Welsh?" Merlin grumbled, tagging along all the same.

Uther had a point about that assassin.

"What I cant just enjoy your intoxicating company?" Arthur taunted and they froze an awkward moment hanging in the air until they both burst into peals of laughter. "Yeah, right, and Gaius actually likes peas, and Morgana actually likes those rib crushing corsets" Merlin retorts.

Arthur smirks, "I find it rather disturbing how much you know about women's apparel, is there something your not telling me Merlin?"

"What? You think - absolutely not, no way!" Merlin exclaims, "no" he adds once more for good measure.

"All you had to say was no" Arthur said smiling with to many teeth. Merlin scowled, "I said no, very loudly and clearly."

"And repeatedly. You know what they say about a man who protest to much, don't you?"

Merlin shakes his head, "That he's telling the truth?"

Arthur's smirk widens and he's giving him another look, but he doesn't answer, or if he was going to is interrupted when Thomas the stable boy came out leading their horses.

Arthur, his usual grey charger and the well mannered roan Arthur had long since picked out for him. For some reason known only to equines they all had this nasty tendency of throwing him from the saddle; Arthur had found it amusing the first three times.

But he drew the line at four, if Merlin landed on his head yet again he was likely to dash the last remnants of his wits, or so he'd said.

Merlin hauled himself astride the hose, nervous as always when his feet weren't firmly planted on the ground. "Why do I let you drag me into these things?" Merlin grumbled with a halfhearted glare at Arthur's well defined back. He supposes the view could have been worse. It could have been Sir Bors.

"Because I'm charming?" Arthur says, and if Merlin didn't know better he'd think that look had been coy, but he does so he ignores it.

"No I don't think that's it" Merlin mutters quietly to himself and desolately wishing for the long cold days of winter as he wiped the sweat from his brow for the hundredth time since passing the gates of Camelot. He was going to need a bath tonight, or else he was going drive off all Arthur's game with his aroma.

"I'm sorry I didn't quite catch that Merlin" Arthur drawled dragging out the vowels of his name perilously.

"I said that must be it, sire."

"Of course you did, I'm charming, I've never met a woman I couldn't charm" Arthur exclaimed.

"Right, er, of course" Merlin said.

Arthur sighed, as though Merlin where missing some important part of the conversation but said no more of women, wooing, or his dubious ability to charm anything wearing a skirt - instead letting the silence linger between them as they wind there way through trees and brush.

An hour, and countless miles, into their hunting trip Arthur accumulated a brace of conies but little else, apparently even the animals had sense enough to hide from this sweltering heat whilst one Prince Arthur did not.

Merlin wiped at the sweat collecting unpleasantly on his brow and the hollow of his throat using the neckerchief that he bunched into his pocket afterwards. Arthur studied him; eyes lingering uncomfortably long before he turned his attention to the horses.

"Lets give our mounts a rest, this heat does nothing for there health."

"Their health? What about mine, sire" Merlin hissed stumbling his way from the saddle. Arthur shook his head in exasperation, "You have the constitution of a dairy maid, no I take that back I've known stouter dairy maids than you! Man up would you."

Merlin fumed in silence stomping, loudly, behind the prince, who with his back to Merlin was free to smile where it would not be seen - all hopes of further game dwindled down to nothing but he couldn't rightly care.

It wasn't for hunting that he'd escaped the castle walls for, but this. Merlin, laughing, frowning, stomping and altogether much to carefree with his name and his mutterings - exactly how he liked him.

_How did one go about propositioning ones manservant these days? _

And he did not just think that! Besides proposition sounded so vulgar. He may not know what word to use or what exactly this was but he had a feeling that was gnawing at him, and a fondness that was not going away. Short of sacking Merlin, again, this was his only recourse before he did something monumentally stupid.

They paused at the river and Merlin stopped his stomping to liberally splash himself with cool water, Arthur could only hope it might also cool his temper.

Merlin, ever the easy going sort, was always more prone to sniping when the days grew long and hot during the Summer Solstice - and he supposed that just maybe dragging him on an outing he wanted no part in had not been entirely kind.

Arthur looked over his shoulder to find Merlin shuffling through the saddlebags coming up with two pieces of dried venison clutched victoriously in hand, so of course Arthur snatched one earning a rather odd look from his manservant.

"What?" he asked around a mouth full of venison, "Nothing" Merlin said plopping down beneath the shade of a overhanging willow.

_Why hadn't he thought of that? _Arthur eyes the trunk the mans propped against and follows suite and if he sits closer than is proper Merlin doesn't think to ask, and he doesn't say.

"Gwen packed them for me, and you of course, when she got word of your latest whim" Merlin says, to fill the silence that admittedly has become a little awkward.

Arthur, however, sputtered indignantly. "A whim? Going hunting is not a whim it's a necessity, without food people starve, my people, though I doubt you'd understand about something like that" he spit out irritably.

If he was expecting quailing or quivering he would be disappointed, Merlin did neither leveling him with an even look. "I understand starving Arthur, not all of us grew up in castles, but I also know that the Camelot grainery is well stocked."

Arthur fell silent the anger gone out of him. He absently handed over the last piece of venison earning a chuckle from Merlin who refused, "Gwen packed enough for two, Arthur."

"Picking flowers is a whim, buying a spare cloak is a whim" he said stiffly daring Merlin to argue with that.

He did not disappointed.

"What then is going hunting on the hottest day in summer called, when there is more than enough food at home to feed two cities?" Merlin wryly asked laughter twinkling in his blue eyes as he grinned up at Arthur.

With the sunlight and shadow dancing across the sharp planes of his face he looked positively ethereal and a little fey - and for a second Arthur was truly enchanted, until he blinked, breaking the spell and it was just his silly idiot manservant _Merlin._

They where so close he could see his ridiculous, lovely, eyelashes.

"A whim" he said smiling wolfishly darting forward before Merlin could do more than squeak he grabbed hold of him by the waist and flung him over his shoulder, tossing them both headlong into the river with a loud splash.

Merlin surfaced with a gasp sputtering and laughing all the while. He may not have looked fey or otherworldly with his hair plastered to his face and clothes clinging wetly to his slender frame, but Arthur had never though him more fetching.

He was enough things already, the sorcerer who saved his life and the friend whose smile lit up a room like a torch in the dark, and the man whose laughter made Arthur's chest tighten with foolish notions. He was enough things, fey and otherworldly needn't be among them.

When he splashed him right in the face, war was declared and Arthur could do no other but retaliate in kind, thus beginning the water war that would end only with Merlin playfully pleading for mercy as he was dunked repeatedly.

As for Arthur, well, he would be wearing a smile for a long time after. _Even_ when Merlin tripped over a pebble, of all things, and landed across his lap bony hips jabbing into his groin and flailing elbows cracking against his jaw ae Merlin struggled to straighten himself.

Arthur could feel every inch of him; counting it less of a hardship even as his jaw ached and his lower region protested this treatment.

It wasn't all bad, when Merlin squirmed just so…well, he coughed and tossed him off before he embarrassed himself.

"Has anyone ever told you that you need to eat more?" Arthur grunted flopping down on the damp riverside dragging Merlin along by the wrist. "Oh yeah, all the time" he said with amusement, "Mum, Gaius, Gwen, the cook."

"Well you can add Arthur, to that list of yours" he said, "you really need to eat more, you're skinny enough to make half the girls at court jealous."

"I'm not that skinny, am I?" Merlin muttered glancing at himself absently something a bit more genuine seeping through the light banter, no doubt remnants of a childhood full of bullies and prat's Arthur mused.

"I suppose not everyone can be a great warrior type, like me" Arthur said gruffly, "I was only playing with you, you girl" he tacked on cuffing his ears.

Merlin looked about to speak, but said nothing and the silence that followed was the good sort, not the _your-being-a-prat-and-I'm-not-speaking-to-you _kind. It was merely a length of companionable quietness, and him knowing Merlin so well, knew how rare it was too so they lazed like lizards shaded by the gently swaying willow and Arthur lost himself to the bubbling mix of emotions that came with lying so closer to Merlin.

It was a feeling that pulsed below the skin, near the cavity of his heart, growing irritatingly larger whenever Merlin was underfoot and in general making a nuisance of himself.

Because of this Arthur failed to see the approaching danger; it would be longer still before he'd forgive himself for that.


	2. Chapter 2

The sun beat down on them relentlessly until they could feel the heat of its ray on there bones, seeping away at the will to move. But someone had to when stomachs set to rumbling, so naturally that was Merlin who muttered a few indecipherable words over the food declaring it edible. Arthur was not so convinced and insisted on a proper fire to roast the rabbits over.

Occupied with cooking Arthur's lunch he never saw the bandit come up from the shrubbery and club him over the head, all he saw was Arthur's wide eyes look and useless shouting of his name before a curtain of black closed over his vision.

"Merlin!" Arthur shouted, flinging himself to his feet grabbing at his sword carelessly laid across his lap. The idiot had gone down without so much as a whimper after that club wielding hulk bashed him over the head.

_Gods, the man looked like a mountain. How did I not see him? Oh, right. _He'd been busy not staring at the back of Merlin.

One bandit, distant cousin to a large troll or not, he could have easily dispatched and later poked fun at Merlin for being entirely useless. _So much for him being a powerful sorcerer, eh?_

But it was not just one hulking bandit with possible troll relations, but eight. No matter how experienced the warrior eight to one was never good odds. If Merlin would've woken and made a tree fall down on them the trip might have been salvaged then and there.

But he didn't, he just lay there limp and pale and Arthur wasn't worried, _really_, he wasn't.

However he might have imagined dying, and the thought had crossed his mind a time or two, by the hand of some nameless' bandits - no matter how largely built - seemed rather depressing, so he planned on not dying today.

_Besides, who'd look after Merlin then_? No one else was queuing up for the job that's for sure.

Falling back into old habits Arthur tucked into a roll and came up with the dagger he carried around in his boot; one bandit going down with a gurgling death knell blood gushing from his pierced eye. The clash of swords to follow was fast and brutal, three more men lay dead at his feet before it was over.

He hacked, slashed, and parried dancing around there wide swings and shoddy footwork hope swelling in his chest. There where only four now. He could do four, no problem.

"Put down the sword little prince, and we wont harm you" one of the bandits said, a scar bisected the left side of his face leaving him with an eternal frown.

Arthur laughed darkly, "And what makes you think I will do that?"

"Do not, and Daub here shall slit your dark haired companions throat" scar face said and sure enough one of them had Merlin, the blade at his throat glinted mockingly at Arthur beneath the midday sun.

"What a waste that would be to" scar face said with a hawkish grin that set Arthur's teeth on edge. Because of this, the thin line of blood tracing his menservants neck, he hesitated and it cost him. The four men converged on him en masse and he had no choice but to throw down his sword in defeat, or watch Merlin die for his injured pride.

Of the two only one was acceptable.

"How very noble of you to throw down arms for a companion" scar face taunted, "I'm sure he wont thank you for it."

Arthur scowled, every princely bone in his body demanding answers.

"A prince would never be so willing to die for no more than a serving boy" scar face said clamping something thin and metallic around Merlin's bared throat.

Arthur forced himself into stillness when Merlin's body bucked wildly before going completely limp in a matter of seconds, but it took everything in him to do so.

"You've known many princes them, have you?" Arthur snarled forcing his eyes away from Merlin and that strange devise on his neck. It looked unnatural against the paleness of his throat.

"I seek the Prince of Camelot, and I know that no prince would rightfully throw down arms for a servant, which can mean only one thing" scar face said, his fingers carding through Merlin's hair as he spoke.

"I'm listening" Arthur prompted wishing to break every one of the mans fingers. He had no right touching his manservant in that way - it was most unseemly.

"You must be the loyal body guard I heard so much about, and this" he said tugging on Merlin's damp hair, "must be the prince."

Arthur knew not weather to laugh or to cry that he had been mistaken for Merlin, or was it Merlin who had been mistaken for him? The very idea of Merlin as a prince was so, well, laughable that he couldn't help a bit of amusement.

"Merlin is no more a prince than I am a pauper" Arthur declared after his laughter subsides enough for words, "and clearly you need to get out from that cave you've been hiding in these past years."

Scar faces' skin purpled turning the scar a livid white as he clotted him across the face with the back of his hand. Arthur spat blood but was otherwise unconcerned.

"Well lets hear it then shall we, what do you want? Money?" he asked swiping off the blood with his thumb. It would be good if all these mountain men wanted was gold, that was easy enough to negotiate.

"Yes, money, for now" scar face said shoving Merlin at the big fellow called Daub who chortled hefting him over his broad shoulders with a slap to the backside that would surely have sent Merlin into a fit had he been awake. Thus, for once, Arthur was glad he was not. The men noticed him to much as it was.

The men bound his hands with rope tying on a separate length by which to pull him along behind but otherwise left Arthur alone to survey his surroundings with a critical eye - and if he fumbled a step here or displaced a rock there with awkward stumbling more befitting of Merlin than he, who was to know? He was making certain that when the chance for escape arose he could find his way back again.

Arthur, being a good negotiator and not wishing to loose to much of Camelot's wealth, haggled relentlessly with the bandits, using a blend of facts and half-truths about what a king would or would not pay - even for his own son. Within the hour he had halved the sum down from there original exorbitant price, they settled for Merlin's weight in gold, and an extra pound for himself.

With the matter settled a messenger was sent to the king straight away complete with their demands and Merlin's bloodied neckerchief. No doubt that would baffle his father, and worry Gaius, enough that he would pay the ransom for both son and servant.

Arthur stared at the flickering fire that was ten yards to far away to feel, studiously not thinking about how these men had torn Merlin's shirt - the way he blushed from those ridiculous ears to the flat planes of his stomach - and dragged a blade from chest to hip.

Or how they bled the wound and scraped the worn red neckerchief over it until it was soaked with fresh blood. Mostly, he cant stop thinking about the stark terror in Merlin's face when Daub licked the residue off with his tongue.

Early on he had decided it would be best if the men holding them hostage continued to think Merlin the prince. Clearly they were expecting money for both, and this way he would be in less danger. Merlin, of course, not him. He could manage himself just fine.

Merlin balked, and argued a lot, exactly as Arthur knew he would but see the prince knew his biggest weakness and he exploited it shamelessly. He was safer as _'the princes body guard' _than _'the crown prince of Camelot who it seemed everyone and there mother wanted dead.' _

Being a body guard, was only a step higher than commoner to these men which made him invisible or with some work someone they could relate to. Merlin agreed in the end, also exactly as Arthur knew he would.

The extent to which he knew Merlin could be at times alarming.

Arthur of course did not point out, and Merlin had yet to grasp on his own, was that Uther might welch on paying for a servant, confusing circumstances or

not, and if it were to come to that his chances where far better than Merlin's. Sorcery not withstanding, Merlin was utterly useless.

The one thing the prince had not included in his scheming was the depravity of man. Having grown accustomed to men or honor and principles, he sometimes forgot there existed those who had none.

* * *

The sun was attempting to rid all of Albion of her two-legged inhabitants with this infernal heat, that was the only explanation for this day being even hotter than the day before last.

His tunic was ruined, there would be no salvaging this one after this excursion, and what a fun one it was to - he was hot and sweaty and he suspected beginning to smell rather rank and Merlin was surely no better hauled over Daubs massive shoulder when he wasn't being totted behind scar faces' horse like some war prize.

Right now Daubs muscled bulk all but blotted out his view of Merlin as the man licked a bloody stripe running from Merlin's ribs down to just meters below his beeches. The others hooted and hollered uproariously egging him on.

If Arthur had possessed a sword, or even be able to steal one, he would surely have killed the man, as it stood if looks could slay he would have been a blackened scorch mark on the dirt.

Daub groaned crudely as he pressed there bodies close, his swarthy skin looking dark and menacing against the paleness of Merlin who turned his face away, resolutely silent. Daub rubbed himself until Arthur could see the hard line of his manhood beneath his ratty breeches; he forced Merlin's legs apart with a knee and pressed closer as though he was trying to sink into his bones.

"Its to hot for fucking" he grumbled pulling away from Merlin with a hangdog expression, Merlin who flattened himself against the tree as far from the other man as possible, "even for fucking princes."

Relief poured through Arthur settling like a heavy weight on his chest, for a moment he couldn't breathe. In that moment he could have dropped to his knees and thanked whatever God had seen fit to curse Camelot with this drought but he settled for a whispered_ 'thank you' _aimed towards the heavens at large, and edged closer to Merlin who was steadfastly staring at the ground.

Merlin had become much quieter since he'd learned that he couldn't just make a tree fall, or a branch knock the men over the head and be done with it. He was completely cut off from his magic. It was eating away at him, too, like they had taken a limb.

_Where had his obnoxious loud mouthed servant gone off to? _He rather missed him, seeing as how he could use a little cheer about now.

What Daub had done was unforgivable of that where was no question, but there was no point letting Merlin dwell on it, that way led to madness and other unpleasantness and right now it was his job to keep Merlin focused, and sane.

"Merlin" he hissed nudging the man with the heel of his boot. No response, not good. "Merlin!" he tried again, louder and closer.

"For someone with such unfortunate ears your hearings shoddy" Arthur taunted pitching his voice to the tone that had been dubbed as particularly pratish one evening over a shared mug of the Inns finest ale. Merlin drew a sharp breath and glared, "You are a complete prat, sire" was all he said, but he still wasn't quite looking at him, and that wouldn't due.

"Yes, I know you've told me" Arthur grunted, "many times."

'Well?" Merlin prodded nudging him back with his shoulder, "what is it then?" Arthur does a mental victory dance, because he's looking at him - all right he's glaring at him, but still that's hardly new and is far better still than him talking to his knees.

"What's what?" he asks.

Merlin chortles, "And you call me the idiot."

Arthur sputters, "You cant talk to me like that!" and he's forgetting, yes he can, because they are captives and Merlin is a prince, and out here Arthur is the servant . _Bloody hell. _

"Have you managed to loosen the ropes, even a little?" Arthur asks abruptly noticing that he has a small amount to slack in his, but not enough to be useful at any rate. "Not really" Merlin said wiggling them for good measure, "not for lack of trying though."

"I suspected as much anyhow" he sighed and Merlin is looked at him now and there's so much faith bottled up in that look that he feels all the worse; and makes his words harsh.

"Usually this is the part where you use your magic on the sly and tree branches start falling with suspicious accuracy on our enemies" he snaps unable to stand looking at Merlin who was still naïve enough to think everything would be alright.

His little tirade had no effect but the thinning of Merlins grin as he ducked his head in apology, _oh for Gods sake!_

He was being a prat, he was a prat and that had already been established this was where Merlin was supposed to glare or snipe back at him, not…look away like he'd just torn off the wings of a butterfly and laughed.

"Its not your fault, you know it, and I know it, we just have to focus on escaping." Merlin bobbed his head enthusiastically, "Right, focus, I can do that."

Arthur was torn between laughing and despairing. Merlin made it all seem so simple, maybe it was but either way he was glad of Merlins solid presence at his side, it was selfish but there it was.

Arthur learned over the course of the next few hours that cooking and cleaning and fetching was tiring work, and in this case rather humiliating. _Get my waterskin boy, pile the wood higher, shake out my bedroll, skin the rabbits blondie! _They said as though he were a dog to be ordered about.

_By the Gods! He wasn't this bad, was he? _

It was a new experience for Arthur being on the other side of the commands, would it kill them to fetch there own damn water? He bit his tongue and fetched the waterskin - if he tripped spilling half its contents down scar faces tunic, well, accidends happen - and maybe Daub's bedroll got a bit of poison oak mixed in but what was one to do, these things happened. Mostly he did as ordered and kept quiet about it, even though it rankled something aweful.

He kept thinking, _for Merlin_, to keep from shouting _'I am the Prince of Camelot and you cannot talk to me like that!'_ besides how trite did that sound? And Merlin, he had no such problem laughing heartily from between his fingers, Arthur bore it good naturedly all the while planning his revenge; it would be epic.

Occupying himself with thoughts of muddy shoes that dirtied halls and absurdly stained armor rolled through ivies and caked with mud and a closet full of dull edged swords in need of sharpening the evening passed almost pleasantly.

Arthur allowed himself to be lulled into a false sense of security so when scar face stood abruptly and dragged Merlin to his tent by his _hair, he was shocked. _

There was no warning, no sign, and Arthur had allowed himself to forget that one hawkish leer by the river bank. He would not forget the sounds he heard that night. There was shouting, cursing, and stilted, rambling pleading as Merlin fought scar face with everything he had. It wouldn't be enough Arthur knew, and despaired.

Arthur had failed him.

Arthur desperately wishes he to had magic or a sword, a sword would be good. Maybe then he could've stopped this but he has neither. There's a few panicked pleads that he would've missed hadn't he been listening so hard, followed by a single bit-off cry that freezes his blood.

The last he heard before one of the men holding him down knocks him atop the head was Merlin, calling his name.


	3. Chapter 3

He was so sure everything would be alright, until, suddenly it _wasn't. _

Things didn't just go a little wrong for him, they went straight from bearable to a long waking nightmare as scar face threw him to the tent floor unlacing his breeches with one hand and wrapping the rope binding Merlin around his fist.

"What are you doing? Keep your pants on, I - I order you to!" he demanded in a poor imitation of Arthur as he scrambled to put as much room between them as possible. "You are in no position to be giving orders little prince" scar face said his expression frightening in that he had none - no hate not desire nothing but dark empty eyes that stared into Merlin as though he could read his soul.

"Not much to look at are you?" his mouth curving int ao cruel smirk as he flicked at his ear. Merlin set his jaw firmly, "Nope, not at all just stupid big-eared Merlin."

Scar face chortled, "I suppose I can stand your face if I squint" he hums tilting his head this way and that, "you have nice skin, soft" he adds his hands cupping Merlins jaw his hand tightening to hold him still, "like a woman."

"Please" Merlin said his voice soft and cracking, "don't - don't do this."

"I to have my martching orders boy, and they come from a man far more able to follow through than you are" he said shoving Merlin flat on his back cracking his head against a rock; making his vision spin nauseatingly.

"You do this and I will curse you your family and anyone who might come after!" Merlin hissed, "I will-" scar face slapped him and he tasted blood, "You will do nothing boy, even if your magic was strong enough this will prevent it" he said jerking at the metal collar.

Scar face pinned him down yanking his breeches in one tug until they pooled at his anckles, "Like this your almost lovely" he mutters his fingers tracing over his quivering thighs and the dark thatch of hair at his groin.

"Did you know fucking a boy, is not much different than fucking a woman?" he asked a strange glee overcoming him when Merlin stared back blankly. "A virgin are you, well then this is no harship at all" he dryly added, "no need to worry about catching something, then is there."

Merlin felt something sting at the corner of his eye.

This was happening, this was really trully happening and he couldn't stop it. He kept hoping that any second now Arthur would come charging through that flap, sword drawn and raring for a fight, but he didn't.

Scar face hefted his knees over his shoulder, his breath smelled like ale and he resisted. He pushed and kicked and bit, scar face growled shaking the bleeding hand teeth having dug into the skin between thumb and joint.

Two more men where summoned.

It salvaged a paltry scrap of pride that he had managed to fight that much at least, but, ultimately meant nothing. Scar face had his way plunging his cock within him as though it was some macabre torture device; not an object of flesh and blood.

More than the physical pain that leaves him breathless and shaking, is the mental sorrow tearing at him. It sickens him to the core that he's allowing this man to do with him as he willed, that he has no choice but to allow it.

They cannot know he is only a peasant in King Uthers court, they cannot know that Arthur is the true prince, they cannot know these things so he seals his lips with whimpers and tears and holds tight to the image of Arthur. He clings tight to thoughts of his prince where in this moment it is all he has.

Scar face is blotted into a hazy lump when Merlins vision blurs with silent tears soaking into the ground, his head turned aside from the man above him - _in him _- he thinks he might have called for Arthur but cannot be sure.

All he knows is the agony thrumming through him that tells him he's torn and bloodied, and the night has barely begun.

Scar face takes him three more times that night, and with each round he cries harder than the last. Scar face tells him to stop bawling like a girl, and he laughs until his stomach hurts and his eyes are sore and gritty with tears and he can taste blood in his mouth and feel it trickling down his thighs.

Its so horribly like something Arthur would say that he laughs even as something cracks inside, something beyond flesh and blood and he knows this is wrong - and that he may never be right again.

He thinks he might have scared scar face a bit with his laughing because he's tossed him out now, leaving him to pull up his breeches and scrawl back to Arthur who is laying face first in the dirt. He pushes him onto his back and tucks himself beside Arthur and lays still slipping away from this waking nightmare with the steady thrumming of Arthurs heart luling him into dreams.


	4. Chapter 4

A strange light is burning into his eyelids and if Merlin has left the shutters open, again, he's going to send him to the stocks and throw rotten fruit at him himself.

_Is that dirt he feels beneath his hand? _

Either Merlin has become an even worse manservant than he'd ever imagined or he's sleeping on dirt? Why is he sleeping on dirt, he's certain there's a reasonable explanation and he'll be sure to demand it from Merlin the moment he arrives with the morning breakfast.

"Merlin" Arthur grumbles trying to roll to his feet, and ending with a facefull of more dirt in stead.

He's tied. With ropes.

Then everything crashes down on him all at once and he's remembering scar face, the tent, and Merlin shouting for him.

Arthur wishes he could rewind time, that this may have never happened and he is at home in his bed and Merlin has left the shutters open, again, and this time he's going to throw rotten vegetables. His aim needs practice, he'll say when the guards look at him funny.

He might wish he could rewind time, but he cant so he settles for shuffling closer to Merlin. Ever careful not to startle or wake him.

Arthur runs his eyes over Merlin assessing his injures, noting the breeches are only just covering his hips and as of yet unlaced. There's a smattering of bruises covering his torso and another fanning from cheek to jaw, nothing seems fatal and for that he's relieved. But then of course there's also how he's sleeping on his side with his knobby knees near to tucked beneath his chin.

It would have been adorable, if it wasn't so damnably worrying. Arthur takes heart in knowing Merlin had slept close, back to back, most of the night if his dim memory of warmth and soft breaths are right.

The men are waking rooting for food in there provisions so he nudges Merlins shoulder, once, twice until finally he blinks up at him through sleep muddled eyes.

"G'way m'sleeping" he grumbled swatting Arthurs hand, _what was it now? _

Always, _get this Merlin, clean that Merlin, Merlin I'm hungry!_ You'd think he was the princes nanny not his manservant. Well, right now _Merlin_ was going to sleep and the prince could bloody well dress himself for once.

Vaguely he thinks his bed is a bit harder than usual and he feels wrong but he pushes it aside. He doesn't want to think about anything, he just wants to sleep.

Arthur drew a sharp fortifying breath waiting for the moment when Merlin would remember, dreading it as though the nightmare were his own. In some ways, it was.

He doesn't know what he had expected. Maybe a fit of tears, some sobbing or whatnot - all of which Merlin is entitled to of course and Arthur is not that big of an arse that he wouldn't be as comforting as he knows how - but his worries are unfounded.

Merlin does none of those things, he just sort of stiffens something dark and haunting passing through blue eyes before he nods sharply with a soft, "Oh, that's really happened then."

Arthur wishes, and he's been doing a lot of that lately, it had been hysterics to this quiet acceptance. He know what to do with a crying woman, mostly, in theory.

But this, there is no precident for this: _how to deal with your manservant - whom you're a little in love with - after he's been raped. _

All his training, all his experience, came down to nothing when weighed in this moment - Merlin staring off past his shoulder not quite able to meet his gaze directly, clearly he was waiting for something from him - and he'd of glady given his sword arm to know what it is Merlin needs him to say.

In the end he's stuck with both arms and a lack of any idea what course of actions to take.

He thinks of slipping out a pointless _'I'm sorry' _or an equally useless _'Its all my fault, forgive me?' _but ignored them. This isn't about him, this is about Merlin and while those things might assuage the weight hanging heavy as a yoke around his neck they wont help Merlin.

He doesn't know what to say, so he takes a note from Morgana's book of rules, _'If you don't know what to say then hold your tongue, Arthur.' _And this is what he does, he slings an arm around Merlins shoulder and says what he should have from the start, "It will be alright."

It's a blatant lie, of course, but one that needs to be said and what Merlin needed to hear.

* * *

Its evening in camp, and the men have left Merlin alone since the incident with scar face. Daub and the others have begun to worry, their messenger is late in arriving.

Arthur would not be over distraught should his father have delivered the man to a long and bloody death, it might be the weather making him cranky and over bloodthirsty but mostly he thinks it's the guilt gnawing at his innards making him crave retribution.

The other two milling about stare at Merlin and him long enough to make his skin crawl, not for the first time he wonders how Merlin can bear it so calmly. If it had been he, well, Arthur dismissed the thought. It wasn't, and he had Merlint to thank for that but enough was enough. It was time for this charade to end.

"Scar face!" he shouted stalking forward squaring his shoulders for the coming controntation, Merlin gasped quietly at his feet hissing, "sit down, Arthur" which he promptly ignored. Scar face looked up from his meal with a scowl, "You do not speak to me like that boy!"

"I am the Crown Prince of Camelot, and you are the scum beneath my boots" Arthur said imperiously, "and I will speak to yo however I wish."

Merlin was staring at him like he was the village idiot.

"He doesn't know what he's talking about" Merlin said his voice quiet and hard, no hint of the usual ramble he usualy had when he lied. "This man is my servant. He's afflicted with a grave mental disease called idiocy" Merlin said somberly slanting a private look to Arthur that could be interpreted as _'what did you think you where doing.'_

"He only thinks to shield me."

Scar face rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "An idiot indeed but how very…loyal…of him." Merlin shrugged regally, Arthur hadn't thought it possible for a shrug to be regal and yet it was. Later he would have to ask how he managed that.

"He's eager to heap punishment on himself, isn't he, this servant of yours." Merlin frowned crossing his arms, "Yes, well, like I said, he's a bit of an idiot."

Arthur never knew how Merlin managed it but he convinced these rabble he was a prince, and that the prince was a peasant, and still when he said idiot it sounded a lot like prat, while his eyes said _'hush before you get yourself killed.' _

Arthur had never known eyes to be loud before Merlin with his sires that sounded like an insult, and his bows that reeked of impertinence, and now his eyes spoke loudly as words. Of course he did have lovely eyes…which was not at all the point.

The point that between the two of them he was the prince.

"Lies!" Arthur snapped his face dark as storm clouds. He cant believe, well not really, this is Merlon so he can. But still, something inside him is shocked by how far Merlin is willing to carry this charade until he realized, _"He's protecting me." _

His gut clenches uncomfortably. Merlin is always at his most stubborn - and sometimes most stupid - when he thinks he's protecting Arthur.

Merlin is mimicking him at his most stately, and he really aught to know because he recognizes the set of those shoulders, the strong jut of his jaw and the furrow between his brows, because their _his. _

Merlin who slouches his shoulders loping around the castle with ungainly strides rather than stalks. Merlin who glares like a kicked puppy, not any angry and dangerous bear waiting for someone to poke it that he might have cause to retaliate, strongly. Merlin, who smiles more than he frowns and laughs more than he shouts.

"He is a well meaning servant, nothing more, and my father would not take kindly to having paid good money for damaged goods" Merlin stated with a pointed look to the men who laugh crudely. Scar face nods thoughtfully.

Arthur flushes hotly grinding his teeth. Merlin made a valid point, chances where he would continue to be left alone because of it. That did not mean he had to like it.

"But of course," scar face says with a sneer and mocking bow, "my little prince."

A small vicious part of him that wants to lash out, to hurt, because he's hurting and he cant logically see why, he's remarkably unharmed with barely a scratch on him, why then does he feel like hes drowning and standing atop a friend to breathe?

The anger bleeds to exahustion and he lets it go like so many shattered dreams and hopes he once harbored. Merlin walks a little closer than he needs to but Arthur welcomes it, "That was almost impressive" he says at last.

"Was just being you" he said with a faint laugh and a smile that does not reach his eyes. "You shouldn't have done it" Arthur says, because he has to, "you know what they will do."

"I'm hoping that your father will send the blasted money, and we can go home and I can sleep for a week in my bed with my blanket and get woken up by Gaius' snoring and your usually list of chores" Merlin said his voice quiet and soft and bordering on desperate.

Arthur doesn't point out that hope was a sorry thing to bet your life on, but he doesn't because whats done it done.

"I could kill them, I really, really want to" Merlin confessed, "if not for this I think I would."

Arthur nods and simply says, "I should hope so Merlin."

"Your not well…angry or anything?"

Arthur pauses mid step, rights himself, and scowls at Merlin in bewilderment, "Why would I be?" he's not sure what Merlin is looking for, but he doesn't find it and he seems to striaghten out when he looks away, with a soft, "Oh."

Arthur get its then and snorts, "Honestly, Merlin. I'd be more worried if you weren't entertaining thoughts of turning these rabble into mice and feeding them to the stable cats."

The curve of Merlin's mouth is bitter and a little vengeful, but its _real_ and Arthur will take that over the stitled smiles that stop short of his eyes because this is real.

"That's a good one, really, I hadent even thought of that" Merlin mutters and Arthur feels like preening at the praise. Over the next hour they explain in vivid detail the ways that a man can be killed and it eases the tension in Arthurs shoulders. Can he do any of these things, no, but it soothes the anger burning like a hot stone in his gullet to imagine it and explain with a dramatic flourish that never fails to make Merlin laugh.

Not his usual one, a faint echo of that only.

But its progress, he'll take what he can get.

Daub pulled hard on the rope, just to make Merlin fall, which he did spectacularly all flailing limbs and sprawling legs, Arthur tried to catch him but that was hard to do without full use of two hands the result was the pair of them scuffed and dirtier than before. Arthur held outhis bound hands and grasped Merlins tugging him to his feet wordlessly.

Merlin stumbles more than usual, and he was limping heavily. Arthur notices and knows that Merlin sees this as his face flushes with shame that he tries to cover with another smile that never quite reaches his eyes.

Arthur says nothing about it, because he hasn't the words for the things roiling about within him. He feels rather like he's lost a joust, his father is frowning down at him from the stands, and he's bleeding out onto the arena from a wound he cannot see.


	5. Chapter 5

Sleep has become a novely, right along with cleanliness, he would spend half the night tossing and turning and the other half watching Merlin toss and turn. The men didn't host nightly orgies, or pay much attention to Merlin at all - except when they were raping him.

He woke from a restless nap to splashing, at first he thought of children playing in the water before a cold wash of horor over took him. He sat up abruptly, but found no relief in the lack of frolicking children.

At first glimpse it looked like Daub was drowning Merlin, a very naked and shaking Merlin who had his arms trussed behind his back waist deep in water and a sack cloth over his head.

Scar face was watching from the shore but the others paid them no mind. The water was deep enough that he couldn't actually see what Daub was doing, but that didn't mean he didn't know.

Arthur averted his eyes until it was over, the giants loud grunt of release unmistakable. Daub sloshed out of the water tossing Merlins at Arthur, "At least he smells better now, eh?"

Arthur spat at the giants feet. Daub chortled grabbing up his bag and tossing a morsel at Merlin, "Eat something boy" he said "you get any skinnier and it'll be like fucking a pile of bones."

Arthur wanted to throw it at the man, but he didn't. They were givne barely enough food as it was. Merlin to in shock to do more than lay limp and fragile on the ground needed Arthur's help removing the sack cloth - his hands shook to much to do it himself.

Merlin didn't say a word as he panted dragging in lung full after lung full of fresh air, he just reached out a wet and trembling hand and grasped tightly at Arthur. Arthur could see scar face watching them thoughtfully over his shoulder and shivered.

Scar face tossed a pair of breeches at Merlin watching as he dressed with a calculating gleam in his eye. "Such loyalty between you" he murmured stroking Merlins wet hair, "what would you do for your loyal guard dog, I wonder."

"Leave him alone" Arthur said his words almost a plea for mercy, "havent you already done enough?"

"We are four men stuck wandering the forests far from the sort of establishments that might provided a more comly and morally acceptable entertainment," he reminded, "we'll take what we want."

"Besides, what are morals but a rich mands decree that refuses us commoners our small pleasures?" scar face asked looking directly at Arthur. "What you are doing is punishable by death in Camelot" Arthur stated, "and it is no small thing what you and your men have done to my m- prince."

Scar face stared at him coldly. "So silent little one, have you no words for yourself?" he asked turning his attentions back to Merlin. "Morholt, come here" scar face commanded and a tall lanky man trotted over. He was neither ugly nor handsome but what Merlin and he noted first was the necklace of bones he wore around his neck, "You hollered?"

"You've never had a prince, have you?" scar face asked, Merlin made a small sound in the back of his throat.

"Cant say that I have" the man agreed easily enough stepping closer, inspecting Merlin like he was a horse at the market, "He has a pretty mouth for a boy" he concluded.

Scar face nodded, "Yes, he does."

"No! No more, please no more!" Merlin pleaded looking around wildly for any hint of humanity in these men. "Don't be like that, no one likes a whore who pretends he don't like it."

Scar face looked on with dispassionate eyes for a moment before he brought out his riding crop. "Tie him to that tree" he said stroking the leather absently, the men grabbed Merlin and dragged him kicking and biting to the large oak.

"No" scar face said lightly, "not him, the blond one."

Arthur did not resist. Scar face nodded as though he had anticipated this but otherwise ignored Arthur turning to Merlin, "You will kneel at Morholt's feet and bring him pleasure."

Merlin shook his head in refusal. Scar face frowned darkly, "You will give him pleasure" he repeated running the leather crop along Merlin's cheek, "or I will give your champion pain."

"Don't, not for anything" Arthur hissed at him even though could not see him, and he knew his answer when the riding crop bit into his back, once, twice, three times. This was child's play, which was not to say it did not sting like the devil. It did.

But it was an absolving pain. He grit his teeth and bore it focusing past the pain onto the reason.

Out here with no kingdom to run, no father to please and nothing but forest and crude men, and Merlin, for company he found his reason. Camelot was his fathers, and now he new Merlin was _his._

Love didn't conquer all, but it made the pain bearable.

His tunic was thoroughly ruined he would have it burned on there return home, sticky, and stained with blood. The riding crop bit into his skin and he kept quiet, he couldn't see Merlin but he knew if he gave even the tiniest hint that this was beyond bearing Merlin would end it. He would lay down his body for these men, if Arthur asked it, and maybe even if he didn't.

Gods help him, he'd fallen for a soft hearted fool, hadn't he?

Pain flared across his back and he buried it with banter. "I bet your sister could do better!" he mocked his mouth twisted into something between a grimace and a grin, "no, wait, I'm sure even Merlin could do better Daub!"

Merlin makes a strangled noise that must be the lovechild of a laugh and a sob.

Daub lays into him a bit harder but Merlin is grinning, he cant see it but he can practically feel it somehow - a lightness about the heart, which made absolutely no sense but he didn't rightly care. If he wanted to think Merlin was grinning, then he'd go on thinking Merlin was bloody grinning!

Seven became eight, and eight became nine and then it stopped and he heard the sound of someone walking on there knees and the rustle of laces being undone.

He listened no more after that, he focused on the sharp pain radiating from his back; abstractly wondering if he would have the courage to stop had the situation been reversed, this nagging thought plagued him for the rest of the daylight hours during which he did not look at Merlin, not once.

It hurt to much.

If Arthur looked at his friend he'd have to see how badly everything had gone - _how much he'd failed_ - and he couldn't do that right now. He needed to pretend that everything was alright, just for a little while. He could barely think beyond the swell of hate and vengeance simmering below his thoughts whenever he looked at Merlin, and right now he needed a clear head to_ think._

He needed a plan.

This messenger of theirs couldn't of taken any longer if he'd stopped to pluck every flower between here and Camelot. They had to leave and soon, or there might not be enough left of Merlin to carry home.

That very evenining Arthur hatched a plan, a few days back he's snatched up some belladonna roots in the hopes that a chance might arise to use them. He was no herbalist but he knew the effects of this fragile looking plant, after all it had been used on him once by his own physician thereafter he'd vowed to learn off all the plants that were potent enough to fell a man.

The bandits ordered him about as usual and he obeyed doing nothing to garner there attentions but when they were busy peering into there cups becoming more and more drunk he slipped in some of the crushed roots and waited for the effects to kick in. It did not take long. Between the strong ale they consumed and the heavy dose of belladonna thir captors where snoring into there cups.

Arthur had half a mind to slit there throats as they slept but that would make him no better than them. No, when he dealt with them it would be by the stricture of a knights code, or before the courts of Camelot.

He freed Daubs dagger and cut his and Merlins ropes, "Come on then" he said leading his manservant by the elbow, "I know you like being a prince and all, but you can just carry on bossing me about at Camelot" he commented, "its not like you won't anyhow."

Merlin smiled, a small trembling thing, and let him take the lead following behind as trustingly as always. Arthur glanced back at the bandits, assuring himself that they where still slumbering before he and Merlin disappeared into the forest.

"That contraption around your neck needs a smithie to remove, there are no keyholes…I checked one night while you slept" Arthur said quietly. Merlin frowned, "You were looking at me while I slept" he repeated and Arthur flushed, "Not looking looking, just - looking, you know to see if I could get it off."

"Not like that, okay, not like that" Arthur mumbled grinding his teeth a flush rising on his cheeks, Merlin's frown trembled into a sloppy grin as he shuffled along, he masked his limp atrociously but Arthur noted the effort and did not comment.

Merlin's grin widened and Arthur's blush darkened, "You where looking, admit it!" he exclaimed as though this were some great revelation, and not at all a trite and childish subject to pursue. "Yes, well I look at you all the time. I'm quite regularly inflicted with your presence, at all hours of the day" he says but there is no malice, only a hint of familiar banter lacing his words.

As they tromped through the woods Merlin gamely keeping up he noticed from time to time the swirl of gold that would flare up in Merlin's iris's but nothing more came of it, on the sixth time he caught him at it he asked what he was doing.

"Trying to use my magic" he explained, "been trying since we got caught but so far nothing, not even a tingle."

"A what?"

"You know, a tingle, a rush, the feeling you get when you walk out into the arena with your armor all shiny and gleaming?"

Arthur nodded, he'd never thought of it that way. He'd never really defined that feeling that overcame him when he stepped onto the field that rush of nerves and determination and that overabundance of pride when the crowds - _Merlin_ - cheered and he knew he'd done well by his fathers smile.

"Well, I get that to you know" Merlin said explaining in soft sibilant words a dose of pride interwoven. "I don't get a-" Arthur breaks off at Merlins knowing look, "alright, fine, a little rush, that's all." Merlin folded his arms silently and Arthur cracked. Merlin could be like a dog with a bone, it was usually best to let him have his way.

"Alright already enough with the look."

Merlin nodded and unfolded his arms, appeased. "So, no tingle?" Arthur asked his lips quirking upwards, Merlins did the same his eyes loosing some of the shadows when they rested on Arthur.

"No tingle" he said and they grinned at each other like idiots, because really, what was there to grin about? It was growing darker every second and they where in the forest, Camelot many leagues away, and bandits where to be chasing them soon enough.

But they where alive, and free, and Merlin was grinning at him like he used to - and it was enough to merit the silly grin on his face that was no doubt only a faction less ridiculous than Merlin's.

They made camp beneath a solid oak that was hollowed out in the middle and was just large enough for him and Merlin to crawl into if they slept close. It was warm and near to cozy and Merlin was tucked close to his shoulder out of sheer necessity. Merlin whined, Arthur grunted and they settled down for the night, and if Arthur ended up with Merlin more across his lap than his side in the morning, he didn't mind and if Merlin was embarrassed it didn't show.


	6. Chapter 6

For three whole days they avoided the bandits. Merlin learned to walk more quietly and Arthur put all his military tactics to use and evaded them quite spectacularly as they led them on a merry chase through the outskirts of Camelot and back again - heading straight for Camelot was out of the question. Each time they had tried scar face and his men had been waiting.

Arthur was well aware that he should have taken the direct route, it was the best chance they had at reaching home but each time if crossed his mind his eyes would light on Merlin who trudged along like a trooper but flinched at shadwos or unexpected touches. He might have been willing to take that chance if it were only his life, but with Merlins, _never_. Either the bandits would give up there chase or they would loose them, recapture was not an option.

Of course Arthur hadn't planned on falling down a ravine and twisting his ankle. It would appear all his plans were going cockeyed lately.

"Be careful" Merlin had cautioned, "its steep here." Arthur scowled, "Yes I can see that for myself Merlin" he drawls his face flushed from exertion, the bandits had proved tirless int here pursuits and the heat had not improved his mood. "If you were a proper manservant you'd use your magic and magic us out of this mess, but of course you cant do that that would be _helpful_, you have to be as usless a sorcerer as a manservant" Arthur grumbled as he navigated the ravine with half his attention.

"And whose bright idea was it to go hunting in the middle of a heat stroke that killed two people already?" Merlin snapped, "Oh, right, that was you!"

Arthur scowled and the next words that slipped out made him wish they had cut off his tongue, his words where harsh and cruel and uncalled for.

"At least I'm still a man." The look on Merlins face could have chilled a bonfire, as it was it made the regret building in Arthur shoot higher. He hadn't mean to say, that, really. _How _could he have said that?

He supposes he could blame the weather, or the bandits, or Merlin - like he usually does - but this time he thinks he's just reverted to a whole new level of prat, and a bit of a bastard besides, and really he'd feel better if Merlin would call him on it rather that look at him with those wounded he could say anthing to make matters worse Merlin's face paled and he squinted over his shoulder to see what was wrong.

There was no mistaking the stomping stride of Daub as he plundered through the forest, the shadowed figures behind were Scar face, Morholt, and the others trailing behind. "Right, lets keep moving" he said, right before he went toppling over the ravine, distantly he heard Merlin cursing his name and scrabling down after him.

_The fool, he should be running. _

But that was Merlin, to damn loyal. Even when he didn't deserve it.

Beyond that Arthur was busy on protecting his head and neck, wouldn't do to break his royal neck falling down a bloody ravine, Merlin would never let him live it down. He's sure there's a inconsistency in there somewhere but he cant bring himself to care more focused on the blur of scenery he's inspecting far to closely for comfort.

Finally he thumps down at the bottom and his head aches and his leg is throbbing and Merlin is wordlessly insulting him with his bloody loud eyes. One would think there'd be more sympathy for the man who just tumbled down a ravine. Then he remembers what he'd said and thinks perhaps not.

Merlin feels his ribs, checking for a break, and his neck and legs before pulling back, "You've twisted your ankle" he pronounced.

"I what?" Arthur sputtered, who twisted there anckle but damsels in distress? Men broke there anckles, or legs, they didn't go and twist them like that visiting Duchess from Cadorak or the noblemans daughter from Mercia, or the Lady Veridians' handmaiden Sarah.

Merlin might have smiled a bit, but it vanished quickly, "Can you walk, if you lean on me?"

"I suppose I'll have to" he grunted heaving himself to his feet, careful to keep the pressue off his ankle that was broken, surely, not twisted. Merlin put his shoulder under his arm and with a surprising strength tugged him upright, a firm hand on his waist as they stumbled along.

It wasn't that he hadn't thought to order Merlin to leave him behind, if he thought it would have worked he'd have done it in an instant, it was that he knew what a waste of breath it would be. And he quite needed his breath at the moment, his ankle was throbbing like an anvil and the warm press of Merlin at his side was doing strange and wonderful things to him.

It was hot as hell, Merlin was even warmer, and Arthur did not care. He was going to have to apologize sooner or later, and that was fine to but right now he focused on putting on foot in front of the other and not sniffing Merlins hair like a lunatic, there was a time and place and this was not it.

"Arthur you do know where we're going, right?" Merlin asked as they paused to allow Arthur to get his bearings. His head was pounding his ankle was throbbing and Merlin smelled like hearth and sweat and clean - it was _distracting_.

"Of course" Arthur said grinding his teeth as the perceived insult. To be fair, he had an idea of where they where going and not much more, but he'd be damned for he'd let Merlin in on that. Just past the river Arthur spotted prints in the mud; Gawain's destrier had been this way and sure enough there where the hoof imprints belonging to Kay's mount.

"Gawain and Kay have been this way" Arthur said with the faintest beginnings ot hope. "You think your father sent a small contingent of men out looking for your captors" Merlin guessed.

"That's exactly what I think."

"It doesn't change much" Merlin said after a moment, Arthur sighed - he was right. Now was not the time to stop and hope for rescue. Neither of them could aford to take that chance. Merlin clutched him tigher and they picked up the pace, Arthur followed suite hobbling along best he could.

Daub and Morholt where closing the distance faster than Arthur and Merlin could widen it. Merlin gave no outward sign of fear he kept them moving along steadily, and it if his grip around Arthurs shoulder became rather crushing the prince said nothing of it. They where moving as fast as two injured men could, both limping and bruised and tired.

Arthur new they weren't going to make it, and so did Merlin, but that didn't stop them trying. He wondered again if there was nothing he could say that might make Merlin leave him behind, but Merlin knew him to well by far, "There's nothing you could say so stop it, I'm not leaving without you."

Arthur settled for tightening his own grip on Merlin and pressing his nose to his neck for a moment before nodding, "Alright" he said finially giving up the foolish notion that Merlin might've grown some sense of self-preservation.

When they could run no more and Daub and Morholt where breathing down there necks they fought with hands and feet and fist, Arthur felled Morholt and his necklace of bones with a right hook and a knee to the groin - it was a cheap and unhnorable move but these where none of them honorable men.

Daub kept lunging for Merlin who was darting just beying his reach as he danced around him, almost nimble for the injures he carried. A surge of pride filled Arthur as Daub grabbed at empty air. Morholt groaned and he put him out with a vicious blow across the face that left his knuckles stinging fiercely.

Scarface drew his blade in a comfortable one-handed grip while hesfting a long leathery whip in the other, one arch had Merlin tripped up and on his back a bloodied gash stretching across his ankles like a crimson chain.

Arthur, pinned between Daub, Scarface, and the other namelss bandit, was prepared to go down fighting and bloody them in the process but it did not happen that way. "Slit his throat, I'v had enough of princes" scar face said to Daub who frowned down at Merlin.

"Cant I keep him, if you don't want him?"

"No."

"But-" Daub's protest died at scar faces withering look of disgust. "I'll buy you a new whore in the next village" he appeased. Daub yanked Merlin by the hair forcing his head back leaving him staring straight at Arthur as Daub's knife came down. On slash across the jugular and it would all be over.

Arthur paled, _God have mercy, no!_

He had three options laid before him. Each more dastardly than the former. One, he could put up his hands in the white-flag of surrender and appeal to reason. Two, he could fight a battle he had no hope of winning and pray to the Gods for luck. Three, he could take as many of them with him as he could and let that be vengence enough for when Daub slit Merlins throat.

"You kill him and his father will wreack vengence the likes of which Camelot has never seen before" he said, his body coiled and ready for a fight, "his extermination of all things magical will be as nothing in comparison."

"And what would a lowly servant know of the kings thoughts?" scar face demanded with a fierce scowl as his eyes flicked over Arthur in contempt. "A fathers love can be a great and terrible thing at the whim of a king." The leader looked at him hard and long before speaking, "You speak well for peasantry boy, why is that?"

"I was fortunate to have a indulgent master" Arthur said dryly. Scar face nodded, "Perhaps you did, perhaps you did not. It is apparent though that you are more than you seem."

Arthur neither confirmed nor denied it letting the man draw what conclusions he would.

"I have not accosted you and your master on a whim boy, I to have a master of my own and when he commands me to find the Prince of Camelot and crush his spirit into the nethers or kill him - whichever comes first, I do so" scar face said his eyes locked with Arthur. "Then you've done your job and let us be on our way!" Arthur snarled his anger risting hot and fast, it matter not at all that scar face was driven to these acts by another. It only meant scar face was a weak willed man doing another's bidding and enjoyed it.

"He fights with to much spirit to be broken" scar face said shaking his head absently. "No, I begin to see something more drastic is called for, but not yet," scar face said coiling his whip, "it would be a pity to mar your pretty face boy. Surrender to me now and I will not have Daub slit your princes throat."

Arthur hesitated.

"Or not" scar face said, with a motion to his man who brought the blade down, Arthur cried out and tackled him to the floor grabbing the blade with his bare hand - blood flowed thick and dark down to his forearm but he paid it no mind as he struck the giant of a man again and again until Morholt and the other bandit dragged him off.

Merlin did not lay there on the floor and watch, no he took his cue from Arthur and kicked and bit and gouged in whatever way he could.

Arthur -bloody and weary and dizzy from bloody loss - looked on with pride and a fair amount of shock, that it took Morholt, Scar face, and the other man to hold down Merlin who was dark eyed and flailing about with too sharp elbows and knees.

Daub held him tightly from behind his armtwisted high behind his back, on false move and the brute would snap the bone. Arthur grit his teeth and bore it as he could feel the heat of the mans arousal hardening against his buttocks.

_This was not good._

Daub had dragged him back a fair distance from the others who where to busy subduing Merlin, Merlin who was stronger than he looked and quite stunning with his eyes narrowed and dark his face flush with exertion.

In any other situation Arthur would have found the sight arousing. But for the moment he was busy worrying about Daub who was gripping him tight and firm and whose cock was hard against the thin material of his trousers, panic flared when a free hand fumbled about with the laces of his trousers.

Absurdly he found himself wishing for Merlin and his magic gold-flashing eyes and that angry eyed look he got whenever anyone tried to harm the prince.

Maybe Merlin was psychic, maybe they where more bonded than he'd ever thought because quiet abruptly the ground was moving, shaking, and Merlin was looking straight at him and his eyes where brilliantly gold. Scar face noticed too and hurriedly struck Merlin across the head hard enough that Arthur could hear the distinct crack from where he was hunched over emptying his stomach.

Daub glowering at the pair of them still holding him but no longer touching.

"He's powerful," scar face was saying, Daub was nodding dumbly while Morholt and the other man where circling Merlins unconscious body like one might a dangerous and unpredictable animal. "Do not touch the blond one again, it seems his master favors him…strongly" scar face said.

"Fix his hand, who knows what will happen if he dies" Morholt insisted tearing off a piece of his own tunic to wrap the still bleeding wound Daub had inflicted. Arthur grimly accepted it. He was no good to anyone 's head jerked up at the sound of hoozes, for half a second he thought surely it was his knights but it was not them, it was the messenger that had been send for the ransom money.

Scar face smiled, "Finally, I'd begun to think you'd taken off with all the money for unknown lands lad."The newcomer was young, not much older than Merlin really, but what made Arthur's heart harden to stone was that he recognized him. He was a stable boy, a _spy_!

It began to make sense how these renegades had known where to look for him. A cold wash of fear ran through his blood. This boy knew he was the true prince, if he told these men who Merlin really was - just a servant to them - they would kill him for messengers eyes lighted on Merlin, slumped across the ground barely clothes and something whicked gleamed in his eye.

Scar face arched a brow in question, "You can kill him now if you'd like."

The stable hand nodded, "I have something else I want first" he said.

"Please" Arthur whispered his voice both soft and loud all at once, bracking on the vowels as he said them. "Leave him be, if you must do what you will with me, but leave him" Arthur muttered his eyes daringly locked with the stable was the Prince of Camelot, he lowered his eyes before no man but the King.

For a moment the man considered before shaking his head, "I think not, always was to mouthy and willful your m- Merlin."

The stable hand had dragged Merlin, still blessedly unconscious, to a copse of trees when Daubs grip on him suddenly slackened and there was Gawain with his trsuty axe and sword, Gawain who was trying to pull him away from where he was tied while the bandits where distracted.

"Give me you sword" Arthur commanded, he had no time for thanks or explenations, these men had drawn breath long enough. "Sire, we are only two please I beg of you let us wait" Gawain requested unwilling to rush into an enemy camp with only him to protect the prince. "I have begged and waited enough Gawain, give over your sword or must I beg for that too?" Arthur asked and something twisted unpleasantly inside the knight.

Arthur had such a look upon him that Gawain would gladly have given him his axe, sword, the armor on his back, and the horse he rode in on should he ask it of him for never had he seen his prince thus, and he wished never to again.

He passed over his weapon and hefted his axe as Arthur let loose with a roar that startled even Gawain as he charged the enemy camp at his princes side. The lithe swarthy leader with the unsightly scar died first, writhing in agony as Arthur took him apart piece by piece.

The man crackd his whip and blood bloomed across Arthurs cheek but he did not seem to notice so intent on the kill was he. Gawain spared a moment to appreciate the ease in which Arthur parried and struck the clang of iron, he fought with the fury of ten seasoned warriors and the air of a man wronged.

Scar face lost his sword as Arthurs blade near to cleaved through his arm but that did not stop the prince. He kicked it back at the man, with a snarled, "Pick it up."

The man had refused, "Mercy" he pleaded clutching at his wound.

Gawain saw that this hardened Arthurs resolve further his face darkening, it was not perhaps honorable to fight a man as Arthur was but he could freely admit he dared not intervene. Perhaps it was deserved, he could only pray that was so.

"Pick it up, or die on your knees."

Scar face grabbed his sword with his right hand hefting it clumsily his lips drawing tight in a sneer, "Killing me wont change whats been done."

"No," Arthur agreed and with two precise movies beheaded the man who had held him, them, captive. "But it will make me feel better."

The lanky man with bones adorning his neck was quick and cunning Gawain noted, he had a cut running the length of his forearm to prove it. "Where they lovers, knight?" he taunted as he danced around the edge of his axe. Gawain ignored him and swung again.

"I think they must be" the man snickered, "though, never will be again I reckon." Gawain grit his teeth and swung and once more the man ducked dodged and left him with another line of blood for his troubles.

"Fight like a man you coward!" he snapped ignoring the sharp sting of torn flesh. "He is so dark and pretty, they must have been" the man chortled, Gawain knew he was trying to get a rise from him but his words where gibberish and made little sense.

"Tell me knight, which was the prince, the fair haired one who fights like ten warriors, or the pretty dark haired one?" he murmured. Gawain gaped like a fool, answering automatically, "The warrior."

Morholt sighed, "Pity, I was hoping to have had a prince not a peasant." Then there were no words as some of that strange fury in Arthur came to Gawain, he charged with a snarl his axe thumping down into the bandits neck. The coprse fell to the floor the head barely attached by a few tendons.

Gawain turned around to see the prince engaging with a large mountain of a man, he leapt forward to assit but Arthurs growled, "He's mine!" stopped him in his tracks. "Your father may require one of them alive sire, to make an example of" he hissed out quickly carefully keeping a few feet between him and his prince. Arthur was blind with bloodlust, it would be all to easy for him to loose sight of whom was foe and friend.

"Then we can drag back the corpse."

Gawain wanted to ask where the tall skinny fellow who was always around Arthur had got off to but he feared the answer, and of what new heights of madness it might drive his prince so he said nothing stepping back as Arthur brought the giant to his knees as he had the scar faced one.

He was stood before Daub's dead body and he felt no better, there was no sudden relief or knowledge that everything would be alright now, all he felt was weary and bloody and sickened.

Arthur knew how to make a clean kill, but he had not. He'd hacked and slashed and taunted playing with there lives as they had played with his and Merlins. He knew he should repent these acts but he could not, and neither could he regret it - and for that surely he was damned.

He could hear Gawain approaching his steps purposefully loud but he could do no more than stand and breath deeply, his sword tumbling from his shaky grasp. His hands weren't trembling, they where just numb and if his eyes where a little watery, well, he didn't give a damn. None here would tell.

"I'm sorry sire, I know you held the boy with some affection" Gawain said crouching down beside him. Arthur brushed aside his words trying to recall when he'd decided to sit down. Oh, right. That'd been when his knees had buckled. "He was a good and loyal servant" Gawain said. Arthur stared at the knight in confusion.

_Was he saying what he thought he was saying? Was Merlin dead? _

Arthur felt as though gravity had fallen out of sync and he was about to fly in a million different directions and his heart was squeezing painfully and Merlin - Merlin was dead? He forced himself to his knees and then to his feet, where was Merlin? He would need the proof of a body before he'd believe.

"Remember him from before and forget how they shamed him" Gawain said not unkindly clasping his shoulder tightly in brotherly succor. Shame. With that word seeping through to him the sluggish lethargy batting as him fell away. Merlin bore no shame in this. The shame was _his_, his for failing his friend, and the bandits for defiling him. Merlin had been, _was_, was he reminded himself, steadfast as always.

"The only shame here is there's Gawain" Arthur said his words clipped and cold backed by a gimlet stare that would had left a lesser man quaking. Arthur did not have to threaten or command or glare, Gawain understood very clearly that to speak otherwise would be to court peril.

The prince surveyed the area in one glance no doubt searching for the body of his servant, Gawain remained a silent by steadying presence at his princes back. Following the scuffed tracks Arthur led them to a small clump of trees no far from the camp and there lay Merlin face down in the dirt his pale skin gleaming wanly in the early nighttime hours his breeches left crudely at his knees.

He was covered in many bruises and cuts and finger printed marks and blood that Gawain could scarce believe the man still breathed, but breath he did. The prince knelt beside him his name a torn and broken whisper on the still air that cut at Gawain. The knight called out a warning when Merlin stirred, best no to crowd, to touch.

He'd had a cousin once. She'd been thus treated and could not bear to be touched for a long time after. Merlin neither recoiled nor withdrew blindly calling Arthu's name before going entirely still - for a moment Gawain held his breath fearing the worst.

"He sleeps" he said with no small relief. The prince exercised a gentlness Gawain had never thought him to possess as he rightened the servants clothing and brushed dirt from his face. "One of them escaped" Arthur said absently as he lifted the bundle in his arms.

"We will find him, sire" Gawain vowed. The prince nodded, "Yes, we will."

Gawain watched the prince carry his manservant to his horse and helped carry his burden while he mounted and thought to himself that this man, whoever he was, would rue the day he crossed Arthur. The prince guarded those beneath his protection like a troll hoarded gold, and those he loved like a mother bear with cubs. An angry bear.

They traveled fast by the daylight hours but where forced to stop early into the evening, and the occasional rests when the prince declared himself quite famished meaning Merlin was making quite bitten off moans on the horse they shared and he could take no more. Gawain daren't suggest they pink up the pace more so than they already had; Merlin's lackluster _"Don't slow down on my account sire, I'm fine"_ had done nothing to improve the princes ire which he had focused squarely on Gawain's shoulder for the next several - long - hours.

Gawain had not appreciated the glares that had been borne into his back all of that afternoon, but he understood it.

Merlin was clam, maybe to calm. Having pieced together what he could of the pairs time as prisoners he concluded it had been horrific, for Arthur spoke little of it, and Merlin nothing at all.

There first night of travel Merlin had stumbled off to a nearby river and returned cleaner and the darkness in his eye lessened but not wholly gone. It would take more than a bath to cleanse that.

Arthur had been loathe to let the boy from his sight, the only thing that kept him at his seat by the evening fire had been Gawain's gloved hand clasping his shoulder tightly, "Let him be sire." Arthur had shrugged off his hand but had remained seated glaring into the fire with a tenseness about the shoulder and bated breath that did not ease until the boy had rejoined them.

Merlin assumed his usual chores, tidying the bedroll in the morning tying the horses, fetching water even when Arthur valiantly insisted he had two working legs and could do it himself, and of course the cooking which was as atrocious as ever. Perhaps he was being noble, or had lost all sense of taste but Arthur ate the food without complaint - shooting furtive scowls at Gawain behind the servants back that suggest he do the same.

Gawain discreet tossed his to the bushes, Camelot was not that far off.

To the naked eye the boy was coping well, he no longer limped as heavily - by the fourth day of there sojourn - and while he jumped as sudden sounds was otherwise whole and hearty, except when he wasn't. All pretenses he held during the day light hours vanished with sleep.

The first time it had happened Gawain had rolled to his feet sword in hand ready to defend against invaders, the second he pretended he was deaf and slept on allowing the prince his privacy as he rid the boy if his nightmares with soft words - the sort one used on a spooked animal - and reassuring touches.

Strange that the boy did not appear to resent Arthur, not even a little, nor his touch. Arthur would grip his hand firmly and speak softly with a gentleness that was not in his nature, but because Merlin needed Arthur gave.

In the mornings after Merlin was calm and quiet and he smiled and talked some but he was not fine. The worst of it is that he was the only one refusing to see it. On the fifth day they passed a small shire, Gawain had grunted about its lack of size to which Arthur had shrugged and said it was larger than Ealdor - wherever that was. In fact it was just large enough to merit a smithe and Inn.

Gawain was sent to buy there rooms for the night while Arthur went to the smithe with Merlin to have that God aweful collar removed, no doubt.

Arthur hated the blasted thing; each time he saw it peaking from beneath his servant neckerchief something dark and dangerous rose up in his face and posture. He looked as he had standing over the bloodied bodies of the bandits whom he'd learned Arthur had refered to as _Scar face, Daub, and Morholt._

Gawain was half way through negotiating room and board down to two shillings when he felt something strange batting at his senses like the air before lightening struck; it was gone within seconds. A short while later Arthur and his servant trudged in both appearing shaken and frustrated. Merlin stared at the ground his face pinched with concentration, but on what Gawain neither knew nor cared.

He'd always been a strange one Arthur's Merlin.

Gawain pointed them to there room and sat himself at a table with a jug of ale. The hairs on the back of his neck tingled still, rest would not find him quickly this night.

Arthur shoved Merlin through the door and shut it firmly, forcefully, before he began his tirade. Merlin was conspiring to give him gray hairs, he must be, that was the only explanation he could surmise. He would have to contend with them in morning, right now he had an idiot to deal with.

"Do you want to get yourself killed?" he demanded refusing to let the way Merlin was worrying his lower lip distract him, or how his shoulder slumped, or how his eyes glistened wetly. If they did not clear this once and for all he'd have a full head of gray hairs ere they reached home. "Better still do you want to get me killed?" he demanded pacing back and forth before the meager dinner fare Gawain had left for them in this closet of a room that barely fit one man and his armor, let alone two - and one of which in desperate need of space.

"I'm sorry."

"Your sorry, well that's good shall I tell that to the king when a villager come to him saying the princes manservant is a sorcerer?"

Merlin stared so intently at the floorboards' Arthur half feared they would catch flame, but they didn't mercifully. Merlin stood there stiffly his eyes glinting suspiciously and it as all Arthur could do not to reach out and touch him, not hug, never that, but just place his arms around him and feel that he was alive and well.

Thus is was the prince reigned in his Pendragon temper, allowing that it was merely his worry masquerading as anger. "Merlin, no one can know, ever" Arthur said far more gently his hand hovering at his servant shoulder but not touching, _never_ touching, "because if anyone did it would end badly, and that is something I cannot allow."

Merlin nodded sharply, "I am sorry Arthur."

Arthur's shoulders sagged and he seemed to droop like a sail with the wild all gone out of it, he hadn't the energy to be angry or to worry, what would be would be. Until such a time as someone looked at Merlin and shouted 'sorcerer' they would carry on as though there were no proverbial axe hanging over there collective heads. That was no way to live.

"It was the damned collar wasn't it? You looked like - you looked bad and I thought, well, I thought a lot of things" Arthur murmured his gaze fixated on the empty fire place. Two tentative steps forward - nothing like the old Merlin to breezed through doors and made no apologies - and he rested his hand on Arthur's shoulder, a wordless reassurance.

He could feel the warmth of that hand through his light tunic. Standing this close he could hear Merlin's quiet breaths and if he turned his head just so he'd be looking at his mouth and the sharp edges of his cheekbones, and if he did that he wouldn't be able to resist stealing a kiss. So he didn't.

Knowing there was a time and place for all things stepped away before he lost all sense as he was wont to do with Merlin. Now was not the time. There may never even be a time so he put all such thoughts from his head and patted Merlin's shoulder companionable, far more gentle than his usual bear claps that were sure to send the man tumbling forward, and moved away.

"I was cut off for so long" Merlin said suddenly breaking the heavy silence with stammering sentences, "When it all came back so abruptly it just…overwhelmed me a little is all" he said with a thin smile that fooled none. "All better now see" he said waving his hands about with a smile, a fire flaring up briefly before turning to softly glowing embers.

Arthur did see.

He saw the half faded imprint of teeth peeking from beneath Merlin's worn and tattered neckerchief, the imprint of a mans hand on his shoulders, and the scar that would run from chest to hip hidden by Merlin's tunic, but most of all he saw the cuts done upon his soul that shone through the shadow of his eye.

"Alright Merlin" Arthur said, even if it wasn't. He removed his boots and being the strategist he was placed his dagger beneath the mattress watching with mild amusement as Merlin stole a few of the nicer blankets to throw across the floor in his makeshift bed.

Arthur hadn't the heart to protest; the old Merlin would have insisted they share.

* * *

When Gawain was done with his drinking and had settled up his fees with the barman he laid his bedroll at the princes door where he made his bed. He had almost lost his prince once, he would not do so again. Arthur stumbled over him in the early morning hours, out looking for some edible food no doubt, shot him a cross look before continuing on his course. Gawain offered no apology. Arthur's safety came before all else. Even his pride.

The prince returned, and with him came food hot from the cooks kitchen, piled high with extras no doubt won from the kitcken maid with his charming demoeanor, and Arthur could be so _very_ charming - when he chose to be.

Gawain was more than a little startled when Arthur handed him a plate, piled with large portions of fried prok and egg sweetened with honey. All he said as he passed was, "I never said thank you" and a quiet, "I should have." Arthur left before he could form a coherent reply, which was just as well. He was lost for words.

Merlin was sleeping peacefully, Arthur was loathe to wake him. Just his luck that the scent of food did it for him. "You brought me food" Merlin stated eyeing the feat Arthur had walked in with. "I brought _us_ food," Arthur clarified with a frown.

"Of course, us" Merlin murmured.

"Well go on then, eat, I know your hungry" Arthur insisted pushing Merlin towards the table, the timely rumble of his servants stomach only proved his point. Merlin awkwardly sat himself across from Arthur and ate.

"How far to Camelot?" Merlin asked when he'd finished, slouching back against the chair in his usual manner. "Not far, but I was thinking perhaps a stop at Eldor would do you good, see your mother and-" Merlins refusal was so sharp and sudden that Arthur was almost startled by its intensity.

"No! I mean we shouldn't, we should go to Camelot straight away or your father might actually send out an army for you" Merlin said desperately trying to regain his calm. "I will send a notice to the king with Gawain" Arthur said lightly, "Its easily done."

"Arthur…"

"Merlin."

"I cant, alright, I cant go back home like this, not right now. Mother worries enough, there's no need to add more" Merlin said his words rushing together as he spoke only worrying the prince further. "Can't go back like what Merlin?" Arthur cajoled a hateful suspicion nagging at his mind. "Let it go Arthur."

"Cant go back like what Merlin?" Arthur repeated more firmly as his eyes bore into Merlin, catching the tells of his reddened ears and wandering eyes; his thumb tapping a off balance tune into the wooden table.

"Like this, damn you, like a-a-" Merlin never did finish that sentence but Arthur heard his words clear as bells. _Whore. _

Merlin's face scrunched up like he might cry - but he didn't - his shoulders quivered and his head was ducked to the side but no tears fell and there was no sound but harsh drawn in breaths as thought it took everything in him to keep himself together. Arthur wanted to offer what comfort he could, but he feared to touch him would be to break him.

Merlin seemed as though about to shattered into a million pieces that even he couldn't put back together again. For all his skills and tactics he was once more useless to Merlin. He could not turn back time, or undo what was done. Daub, Morholt, and scar face were dead but still their ghosts haunted Merlin and Arthur could not kill a ghost. But for Merlin, he would try.

"Fine, if you are certain" Arthur conceded, Merlins releif ovious as he nodded mutely. Arthur knew going home would be good for his friend, his mother might mend the broken pieces he could not reach, but it had to be Merlin's idea; he needed to regain what control he could, Arthur understood that. "I'll go and ready the horses then" he said striding towards the door but Merlin got there first.

"No, Arthur, you finish your breakfast, I am the servant after all" Merlin said with a lopsided smile. Arthur snorted, "And yet you insist on giving me orders."

"I wouldn't dare to presume, sire" he said, and there was that mocking banter Arthur had begun to sorely miss peaking through. "Of course not, that must be the _other_ Merlin." Merlin rolled his eyes and ducked from the room, leaving Arthur to his thoughts. The prince did not have long to stew before Gawain ducked in his face drawn tight in an impressive scowl.

"What? Surely Merlin hasn't gotten himself in toruble already…has he?" Arthur asked his hand already angling for his sword, it only dropped when Gawain shook his head. "No sire, but the village yonder is under attack by a fell beast" he explained, "we must leave for Camelot at once."

"And what of the villagers?" Arthur asked his eye narrowing, "have they any defence?" Gawain grit his teeth but remained respectful if not exasperated. "You are the kings heir, I must return you to him at once" was the knights tight lipped reply. "Meaning they have none, tell me Gawain" Arthur asked stalking forward slowly, "do you take me for a coward?"

"Of course not sire!"

"Then do not tell me to run home and hide when there are people who need my help, my people Gawain" Arthur snapped his fist banging down on the table, a cup clattered to the floor rolling to the knights feet. These were people he knew how to help - people he _could_ help and as for the monsters, well, those he knew how to slay.

Gawain fearing for his charges safety searched for some reasoning that might reign in the princes' desire to rush headlong into danger and then it came to him. _Merlin._ He was surely the princes weakness. The chink in his armor that would bring him back to reality. "And what will be done with the boy, Merlin, sire?"

Arthurs brows drew like thunderheads over his eyes before smoothing out, a wolfish smile breaking across his face. "I think a bit of beast slaying will do him good" he said aloud then more softly, no doubt not intending for Gawain to hear, "yes, this might be it exactly."

"Which village?" Arthur asked buckling his belt and grabbing his saddle bags, Gawain stared hard at the floor his jaw clenched. Arthur took a deep breath before repeating, "Which village, that's an order knight."

"Buckland."

"Stay here" Arthur said fastening the cloak beneath his chin and sweeping from the roomed he added, "and that's an order Gawain."

Gawain watched the prince go with a terrible predicament weighing on his shoulders, did he do as told and allow Prince Arthur to battle an unknown beast with no backup but his big-eared manservant? The boy was loyal, true, but a bit of an idiot as well. But if the prince were to be slain whilst under his guard the king would have his head on a pike.

On the other hand if he broke post the prince would not forgive it easily. What was he to do when neither choice was in the least appealing. He could loose his position or his life, depending upon which way the pendelum swung.

* * *

The matter of the beast was dealt with easily enough. It was stalking the villagers as they made there daily trip to the river but it chose wrongly when it laid its hungry eyes on the prince. Startling the horses into a panic with a howl the creature set upon the two travelers with tooth and claw. Arthur suffered a gash across his arm before he freed his sword from his belt staving off the creature with quick footwork and vicious slashes that left the creature maimed and bloodied and angrier than ever.

His face flushed with adrenaline he backed it into a corner a ravine at its back and a wall of rocks to either side, Arthur's sword coming down for the final stroke - that's when it opened its mouth and spewed fire. Up to then Merlin had remained close, but in the background, his eyes glinting gold at Arthur's shoulder as he threw rocks and branches at the beast.

"A rock really, Merlin?" Arthur had taunted mockingly, Merlin grunted wordlessly, "what would you suggest, sire?"

"Oh I don't know, something bigger."

"Right then I'll just magic up a castle to drop on it shall I" Merlin bit back ducking a slash that would have taken off his head. "That would be nice" Arthur snapped thrusting forward before backpedaling from another clawed slash. With some maneuvering Merlin and Arthur had the creature where they wanted it cornered and helpless, and then had come the fire.

Arthur had a moment to think, _bugger_, he'd gotten them both killed but before the fire touched skin a blue shield took form redirecting the blast, then the ground shook. Heaving mightily, once, twice, before splitting open. Arthur had never seen its like, but then he'd never known any such as Merlin. The creature whatever it had been was clearly no more crushed beneath the weight of the earth.

"Well that was…" his words trailed off as he took in the sight of Merlin standing still and pale the glow of his eyes slowly fading to blue. All the prince could think was he'd never seen anything more lovely, after which he promptly kicked himself for such a ridiculous thought. There were plenty things lovelier than Merlin he just couldn't think of them right now.

"Brilliant?" his manservant suggested with a lopsided smile. Arthur snorted ruffling his companions hair before sauntering off. "Overdone" he said, "I mean really Merlin? The ground moved it was a bit much don't you think?"

"Oh now you want me to think, do you, sire?" Merlin mocked shaking his head in exasperation. The prince grinned to himself, his back still to his manservant. "You're right, best if you don't wouldn't want to overtax that head of yours, best done if you leave the thinking to me."

"If I left the thinking to you we'd be charbroiled."

Arthur rubbed his chin biting back a genuine smile. How good it was to see the old Merlin, the Merlin who bickered and whined and new his worth. At least he hoped he did, seeing as Arthur was utter rubbish with words and feelings.

"Still, did you have to open the earth, I mean really I get that you wanted to impress me Merlin-"

"Oi! I just saved your royal hide your prat" Merlin grumbled stalking along behind as they bickered their way back to the horses, "Ah, so you do recall that I am in fact a prince" Arthur muttered. "Sure I remember, you're a prince, I'm a lowly peasant, and your still a ungrateful prat" Merlin grumbled. Arthur laughed, he could not help it any longer. The mulish expression on Merlin's face was to much.

"That was fun, admit it" he said when his laughter abated. A slow answering smile spread across his companions face, "it was, wasn't it?"

Arthur and Merlin left the village of Buckland a little worse for wear but with higher spirits than they had rode in with and the prince applauded himself on a plan well executed. Merlin seemed more himself and he was glad for it. The battle had been over quickly, but the people were safe, and Merlin looked almost normal. He could hardly ask for more.

"Merlin, did you pack lunch?"

He took the open-mouthed silence as _no_. Arthur kept his face fixed on the road lest his lack of true anger show to clear. Normal indeed. "Right, of course not, what was I thinking."

He supposed he could ask for a better servant, but then that servant wouldn't be Merlin. He'd long ago concluded that he preferred this big-eared idiot as his friend - his secret confidante - than just a servant. He had hundreds of those, and but _one_ Merlin.

From the trees watched Gawain, wide eyed and worried at this new revelation. _"Merlin is a sorcerer"_ ran through his head on an unending loop. And Arthur new, of course he knew it would be preposterous to think he didn't. The prince was a smart man, it only made sense that he would know. The question was, why hadn't he told his father?

But then Gawain was not stupid either, and the answer was clear enough. Merlin's loyalty to Arthur was unquestionable. Arthur would not be quick to throw away such friendship, and a friendship it was from the manner in which the two carrier on when not under prying eyes. The knight cursed foully wishing he had remained in his room at the inn, there at least he could have stayed blissfully ignorant. This at least explained how Camelot's prince still drew breath when every magic-user in Albion wanted his head.

Steel alone did only so much against a spell casters curse.

Gawain sighed, perhaps he aught have been a book-keeper or a clerk, they at least needn't ponder thoughts that could have them tried for treason and lawfully executed.


	7. Chapter 7

They were a fortnights journey from the castle walls when it happened. Gawain had taken himself off to find a tree leaving Merlin and Arthur - whose sword never cleared its scabbard - alone when the bandits attacked. There was no clear warning, one moment Arthur thought them alone and the next they were beset by thieves. The prince heard Merlin snap out a sharp syllable sounding more like rouged music than a curse when with a flash of fire-gold eyes the bandits left as silently as they had come. Deep down he knows that they are dead-men now though he'd seen no fire and heard no screams.

This worried Arthur, Merlin's readiness, willingness, to kill so easily, it was not like the Merlin he'd known. There had been no hesitation, no warning, just a quick death. _Where had the laughing, simplton of a boy Merlin had been gone? Or had he always had this in him_? Arthur began to wonder, and yet for all this he felt no fear for himself. Merlin was changed but he was still _Merlin. _

Gawain rejoined them and they shuffled onwards neither speaking of what had happened.

Arthur worried, for a time, but gave it up in favor of counting his blessings that Merlin seemed a little more himself with the Buckland adventure, as he called it, behind them. Merlin began to smile more, laughing at Gawain and his ribald jokes, and humming silly shanties as he cooked - which was still awful tasting - and when he slept at Arthur's side the nights passed quietly by with nary more than a passing own-screech to disturb.

Gawain watched Merlin differently now, Arthur never asked but he knew that somehow between aiding in their rescue and the Buckland adventure the knight had discovered his menservants secret. One night while Merlin feigned sleep they talked long into morning, it ended like this, _'he is loyal to me, to Camelot, and I will not see him burn, is that understood?'_ Gawain had. Far easier to make a choices when it was put in those terms. So Gawain kept a close eye on Merlin with Arthur watching them both, a look of warning clear when they lighted on his knight. Arthur gently poked and prodded at Merlin until they resembled something like their old selves bantering and bickering over chores and insults that were so well used to them they seemed more endearments that held no sting.

Arthur having grown used to those quiet firesides and days of rolling hills saw the jut of the castle above the tree line and felt something like dread curl over his heart. Merlin had come this far it would make no sense to turn away at the gates, it was a silly fear but one Arthur held close and tight with bated breath. _Why should Merlin come back, here to this place that held so many personal dangers for him? _

In the end, he needn't have worried. Merlin had only paused briefly, like a man staring into the eyes of his fate knowing all its dangers and choosing it anyway - for good or for ill -, before ridding through. There had been a feel of finality in that moment, a choice made, and when the gates swung close behind it sounded to Arthur like the click of cell doors.

His first proper day back after the feasting and dining his father had insisted upon, he had nearly lost him after all, he thought it aught to be awkward, strange even, but it wasn't. He and Merlin fell into their allotted roles easy as bolts into slotted holes and fit together once more as they always had. It was comforting, to know no matter what, he would always have _this_. Merlin brought food enough for three and ate half, he grumbled and growled threats they both knew would never come to pass.

"To the stocks with you Merlin" had almost become his morning greeting, Merlin's answer varied on the day. On the days he was hung over from the last feast nights drinking his manservant would whistle a chirpy song as he yanked open the shutters, "of course sire, drink this, there you go" and all but patting his head, which admittedly always felt much clearer afterwards.

"Clean this room Merlin, it's a pigsty" he'd say, and the stocks would be forgotten. "Small wonder, that" Merlin would mumble and with a flick of his wrist, a glint of gold, the room would set to righting itself. Most mornings went like this.

Then there were others that went quite differently where Merlin would call him sire far to often, and bow to low and his smile would be brittle and hard. On those mornings Arthur summarily dismissed his plans for the day in favor of gentle poking at Merlin with all of Gawain's best jokes until he smiled truly, and laughed loudly.

On these days more than any other he looks at Merlin and sees how he's changed, in the way of a sword re-forged might be changed, its shine a little dulled but its blade remaining sharp. But no matter to all these subtle shifts when Merlin does smile, the one that makes Arthur light at the head and heavy at the tongue, he feels that old familiar feeling, it was past speaking on now, but he can put a name to it at last, _love._

_The End_


End file.
